


Angels are Just Another Name for Wingmen

by lily_winterwood



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Christmas, Christmas Cookies, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, F/F, Holiday Matchmaking, Holidays, Ice Skating, M/M, Matchmaking, Mistletoe, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Other pairings if you squint, Past Christophe Giacometti/Victor Nikiforov, Skiing, Sleigh Ride, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Wingman Victor Nikiforov, Wingman Yuuri Katsuki, Yule Ball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 18:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13195704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lily_winterwood/pseuds/lily_winterwood
Summary: “Do you evenknowhow to play wingman?”Viktor pauses, and shrugs. “I’ve pointed a lot of beautiful women in bars at Georgi instead, does that count?”Yuuri snorts. “Probably not,” he says. “And Phichit’s always been the one to set me up on things, since he seems to derive all of his energy from social interaction.”“Look at the pair of us,” Viktor remarks wryly. He then laughs. “How hard could it be?”Viktor and Yuuri are invited to the Giacometti family's annual Christmas Eve gala. Shenanigans ensue.(Originally posted toTumblras the 'Jingle Bells ficlets'.)





	Angels are Just Another Name for Wingmen

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on [Tumblr](http://omgkatsudonplease.tumblr.com/tagged/jingle+bells+ficlets/chrono/) as a series of holiday ficlets called the 'Jingle Bells ficlets'. People would drop the word 'Jingle Bells' in my ask and depending on the number I get I would create a series of ficlets in response. Among these prompts was the following actual prompt:
> 
>  _What about a Yuri/Victor prompt that starts off Victor and Yuuri at something fancy (charity ball or whatever) and ends with them ditching it and snuggling at home in less clothes... I'm not sure the path for A to B but it sounds so lovely to read in your style right now._
> 
> Which gave me the perfect excuse for Hallmark Channel-esque holiday fluff, so enjoy! Happy Holidays!

“A…  _three_  day Christmas charity gala?” Yuuri Katsuki blinks up from the vellum envelope sitting in his lap. “Chris has  _got_ to be kidding, right?”

“It happens every year,” says Viktor Nikiforov. “And it’s not three days of gala; that’s only supposed to be on Christmas Eve. There’s also supposed to be other winter activities; it’s held at their family ski chalet, anyway.”

“And… Chris just invites you every year?”

“Well, he invites everyone, he reckons it’s the more the merrier. Also, it saves him from having to interact with the rest of his family, so there’s that.” Viktor laughs. “Do you want to go? I haven’t gone every year, but the ones I did attend  _are_ pretty fun.”

Yuuri snorts. “I bet,” he says, and Viktor’s cheeks tint bright pink. 

“You don’t have to be sleeping with Chris to find his family parties fun,” he points out. “I mean, for a bunch of stuffy bankers and lawyers, their hospitality is pretty great.”

Yuuri taps the envelope. “Are you sure he won’t mind if we came? I mean… it seems disingenuous to go just so we could… have a change of scenery or something.”

Viktor laughs. “I think he’s hoping we go just for that,” he says, before turning to his phone. “Should I tell him yes from both of us?”

Yuuri nods.

* * *

And so the morning of the 23rd finds Yuuri blowing into his hands outside the airport in Geneva, having stupidly packed his gloves into his luggage instead of his carry-on. Next to him, Viktor excitedly taps away at his phone and bumps his shoulder against Yuuri’s, clearly impervious to the winter weather. 

“Are your hands cold, Yuuri? Do you need me to hold them to warm them up?” Viktor teases. Yuuri feels his cheeks heating at that; he extends his hands and lets Viktor enclose them in soft cashmere wool. 

“I’m starting to wonder why we didn’t decide to just spend Christmas huddled under a kotatsu eating KFC,” he mutters. “We could’ve still put in an order for a Christmas cake, you know.”

“Maybe next year,” Viktor replies cheerily, and Yuuri’s stomach warms inexplicably at the promise of future Christmases together. “Besides, it’s always fun watching Chris’s family bend themselves backwards over my birthday, since back in Russia my birthday doesn’t usually conflict with Christmas.”

What he doesn’t say is, of course, that as a result he sometimes forgets about his birthday altogether, especially when he’s coming off Russian nationals and training for Euros and Worlds. Yuuri, who had had katsudon on his birthday for most of his life (and Phichit’s amazing take on Japanese curry during the years in Detroit), doesn’t ever want to hear Viktor shrug off celebrations for his birthday ever again. 

He takes Viktor’s gloved hands, presses them to his cheeks, his lips. It earns him a mouthful of wool, but he doesn’t particularly care. “I hope you’ll never spend another birthday alone,” he says. 

 _Because I’ll be with you_ , he doesn’t add, but Viktor gets it anyway.

It doesn’t take long for Christophe Giacometti to come by and pick them up from the airport. “Phichit’s flight is also supposed to get in at this time, so we’ll just wait a little for him,” he says, but no sooner have the words left his mouth does Yuuri hear a familiar shout. Moments later he’s almost bowled over by his best friend’s warmest bear hug, and a barrage of excitable squealing:

“Yuuri! It feels like forever since the last GPF! I’m so sorry I couldn’t go to Japan Nationals because of finals! How are you doing? How’s Viktor? How’s  _everything?_ ”

Yuuri laughs. “Phichit, take a breath,” he rebukes gently. 

“Breathing is for the weak,” declares Phichit Chulanont, squeezing him almost impossibly tighter before letting go and grabbing him by the shoulders, sizing him up and down with the scrutiny of a mother hen. “Believe it or not, I’m still dosed up on five cups of coffee. I literally ran from Baker’s office to the airport — thank god for extensions, but also fuck my past self for procrastinating until the 22nd.”

Yuuri snorts. “We’ve all been there,” he says, patting his friend. Phichit groans, but then perks up at the sight of Christophe standing there, one hand hefting Viktor’s Louis Vuitton duffel bag. The Swiss skater waves, and Phichit quickly peels himself away from Yuuri to latch onto Christophe, exclaiming something about all the things in Geneva that he wants to see before they head out to the Giacometti family chalet in the Alps. 

Viktor chuckles from next to Yuuri. “You know, Masumi recently was transferred back to Japan for something.”

“Masumi?” echoes Yuuri.

“Chris’s partner. Well, now ex, I guess,” says Viktor. “Chris knew because of me that long-distance doesn’t really work for him. So…”

“Oh.” Yuuri feels his ears heating up. “I don’t really keep track of that stuff,” he admits. 

Viktor taps his lips with one finger, his expression morphing into what Yuuri recognises as Viktor Nikiforov’s Nefarious Plotting Face no. 48. “How single is Phichit?” he asks, and Yuuri gapes at him. 

“You can’t possibly be thinking what I think you’re thinking,” he hisses. 

Viktor only winks in reply. 

* * *

The drive out to the Giacometti family chalet is punctuated mostly by the frantic clicking of Phichit’s phone camera shutter as he tries to capture every picturesque bend in the road from the passenger seat of Christophe’s car. 

Yuuri and Viktor are tucked into the back, Viktor leaning heavily against Yuuri’s window as Yuuri keeps his gaze fixed on the beautiful blue strip of sky broken only at the snow-capped peaks of the Alps. Snow had lined the sidewalks of Geneva, decorated the elegant façades of the modern buildings of the metropolis, but it’s out past the busy city where the holiday card-like landscapes really come into view. 

Yuuri watches in quiet reverence as they pass by smaller towns full of colourful Alpine buildings, their bright holiday greenery and lights shining against the white snow. The towns intermittently give way to broad swathes of evergreen forests, similarly powdered in snow. In the front seat, Phichit snaps pictures of the road ahead as they wend through glittering white fields and stretches of wood, singing along to the holiday songs blaring from the radio.

“Think about it,” Viktor murmurs. Yuuri looks down to find his fiancé’s head cradled into his lap, his bright blue eyes wide and sparkling with mischief. “They’d be so good together.”

Yuuri casts a look to the front seats. Christophe has joined Phichit in on the holiday carolling, the two of them harmonising perfectly. “I’m not sacrificing  _my_  friend as a rebound for  _your_  friend,” he mutters. 

“Maybe it’ll work out for them,” Viktor points out. “But they’ll never know if they don’t try. I mean, look at us.”

Yuuri can’t help but smile a little at that. Viktor has a point — this time a couple years ago he would’ve laughed at anyone who told him he’d someday be here: sitting in a car on the way to a ski holiday with Viktor Nikiforov lying in his lap, matching rings on their fingers. 

“I… well. I’ll think about it,” he says, and Viktor beams at that, angling up for a kiss.

“I love it when you play along with my great ideas,” he says. 

“They’re not always the best ideas,” Yuuri points out with a wink. “Maybe I’m just magnanimous.” 

Viktor pouts. “My Yuuri is a cruel master,” he declares.

“I love you, too,” replies Yuuri, his cheeks warming up despite himself. 

When the car finally pulls up in the driveway of the Giacometti family chalet, Yuuri’s first thought is that he’s certain he’s seen this building as the exterior of some ridiculous Hallmark Christmas movie before. Everything about it  _screams_  of winter festivities, from the intricate holly and pine festoons and garlands to the glimpse of multiple well-decorated trees in various rooms through the vast windows. There are already children playing in the snow, and when Yuuri steps out of the car he can hear the sound of skis and snowboards along a nearby slope. 

“We’re adjacent with a popular ski resort, and they operate a lift on the back ridge,” explains Christophe as Yuuri looks towards the mountaintop. “They give us seasonal passes all the time, so that’s why we ask for RSVPs to this event — we need to make sure we get enough for everyone.”

Yuuri raises an eyebrow, especially as the sound of bells rings from around the corner. “What else is there?” he asks. 

“Skating, obviously, down at the pond we passed by on the way up,” replies Christophe. “I wouldn’t recommend practicing quads on it, though.”

“Considering we didn’t bring our skates, I wouldn’t dream of attempting it,” says Yuuri, leaning against Viktor, who’s chuckling conspiratorially. “Anything else?”

“Sleigh rides!” Phichit exclaims excitedly, as the bells grow louder, shortly followed by a horse pulling along a sleigh across the nearby snow-covered fields. Yuuri can see Mila, Sara, Emil, and Mickey bundled up in the sleigh, laughing and waving at the children as the horses whisk them out of sight. 

“Oh, yeah,” says Christophe. “Some of my cousins keep horses, so we have stables a couple kilometers ahead, too.”

Yuuri turns to Viktor, who takes his hand with a grin. “I told you there’s going to be plenty to do here,” he says. 

“I didn’t doubt  _that_ ,” Yuuri replies, as some people — cousins of Christophe’s, apparently — come out to fetch their luggage. He puts an arm around his fiancé, leaning in closer. “I’m just trying to figure out how to get your silly plan to work.”

Viktor laughs all the way down the hall to their room.

Thankfully, Christophe has gotten them their own room with a double bed. “This is definitely an improvement from the bunk beds I had to deal with other years,” Viktor declares as they set their suitcases onto the bench at the foot of the bed.

Yuuri throws open the closet door, hangs up his and Viktor’s garment bags with their tuxes for the Christmas Eve gala. “Think they’ll have an iron somewhere?”

“I dunno.” Viktor laughs. “They’ll probably find it tomorrow, though, when everyone’s in a crisis over last-minute wardrobe malfunctions.”

Yuuri chuckles, turning to watch his fiancé flop down on the bed, his arms open in invitation. He goes willingly, tucking himself up in the comforting circle of Viktor’s arms, and looks up at the low ribbed ceiling with its little antler chandelier. “Think those are real?” he asks.

Viktor hums. “What kind of deer has antlers that tiny?”

“Point.” Yuuri yawns at that moment, feeling the exhaustion from the travelling and the jetlag sneaking up unexpectedly on him. They’d flown over from Saint Petersburg, so the time difference isn’t as egregious as it could have been, but still, Viktor’s arms are comforting and warm, and the bed is very soft — 

“Yuuri, you know falling asleep right now is going to be bad for your sleep cycle,” Viktor’s voice reminds him gently. Yuuri’s eyes snap open, and he quickly sits up in bed, scrubbing at his hair. Viktor chuckles, sitting up with him and cupping his face in his hands; Yuuri shivers a little at the feeling of Viktor’s thumb run along his cheeks. 

“I’m… I’m going to go take a shower,” he declares, extricating himself from Viktor and grabbing one of the towels conveniently set out for them on the armchair by the window. Outside, the sun is at its midday zenith, shining brightly over a vast alpine valley below. Between the stalwart pines, Yuuri can barely make out the faint traces of chimney smoke from the nearby town and ski resort nestled down in the valley’s heart.

He feels more than sees his fiancé coming up and grabbing the other set. “I’ll join you,” Viktor says, voice tickling Yuuri’s ear, and Yuuri shivers despite himself.

Showering takes a little longer than it should have if they had just stuck to showering, though both of them are looking and feeling decidedly more relaxed afterwards as they put on clothes that are not travel-worn. Yuuri watches Viktor adjust his grey merino sweater in the mirror, and can’t help but slip his arms around him. 

“I love it when you get cuddly after sex,” Viktor remarks. Yuuri has half a mind to drag him back to bed for that, but he thinks better of it, only nuzzling his face a little more insistently into the wool of Viktor’s sweater.

“Let’s go find Chris and Phichit,” he says, before pausing. “Do you even  _know_ how to play wingman?”

Viktor pauses, and shrugs. “I’ve pointed a lot of beautiful women in bars at Georgi instead, does that count?”

Yuuri snorts. “Probably not,” he says. “And Phichit’s always been the one to set me up on things, since he seems to derive all of his energy from social interaction.”

“Look at the pair of us,” Viktor remarks wryly. He then laughs. “How hard could it be, though?”

* * *

The answer quickly proves to be ‘harder than expected’, Yuuri realises, when he finds Phichit in the vast living room, helping Christophe’s younger cousins — who had come in out of the cold — roast marshmallows over the fire for s’mores.

“It’s an American culinary art!” Phichit is saying. “You have to make sure the marshmallows are properly toasted so that they’re crunchy on the outside and chewy on the inside!”

“And then you put it on the crackers with the chocolate?” asks one of the children.

“Exactly.” Phichit frowns at the biscuits and chocolate bars spread out on the platter with their marshmallows. “These aren’t exactly the same as the kind you get in America, but the flavour will probably be just as good. Maybe even better, since your chocolate’s much better.”

Yuuri kneels down next to the children, smiling at Phichit. “The best ones are the ones where the marshmallow’s a bit burned,” he says. 

“Yuuri has a latent pyro streak, so you shouldn’t listen to him,” Phichit counters.

“That has nothing to do with the fact that the marshmallow has to be slightly burnt to get the right sticky consistency for the sandwich,” Yuuri points out, spearing a marshmallow onto a skewer alongside the other children. “Also, one time when I lit seven sparklers in a row does not a pyro streak make.”

Nevertheless, the treats turn out very well for having only substitutes for the proper ingredients, and the children make entire towers of them for the rest of the family and guests. Phichit laughs as they watch them toddle off with the plates full of European s’mores. “They’re so adorable,” he says. “I bet their parents are all frazzled with the gala preparations, though.”

“Really,” says Yuuri, through a mouthful of what has to be his third sandwich. The substitute of Milka for Hershey’s is a definite upgrade in his opinion. “Did Chris tell you that?”

“Yeah, he told me all about how the gala side of it works, since my parents offered to donate in my name this year,” says Phichit, shrugging. “All the attendees are expected to contribute donations to the named charity at the event instead of giving presents. This year the charity is Anyone Can Skate, so of course we had to contribute.”

“Did Chris suggest that one?” wonders Yuuri.

“You’re asking a lot of questions about Chris, aren’t you?”

Yuuri blinks. “I am?” he wonders in what he hopes is an innocent tone. Phichit laughs. 

“Well, for the record, yes, that was him,” he says. Yuuri flushes, pointedly focusing back on his s’mores. Next to him, Phichit chuckles as he looks through his messages. 

* * *

Meanwhile, on the other side of the chalet, Viktor finds Christophe lounging in the library with a mug of something spiced and warm. 

“Mulled wine?” asks Christophe. “They’re making some in the kitchen.”

Viktor shakes his head. “Maybe later,” he suggests, as he turns towards the tree in the library. Each room with a Christmas tree has ornaments themed to the room, so the one in the library has paper chains and fan ornaments made out of disused books. 

It’s been a while since he’d been to one of the Giacometti family charity galas, but the ones he had gone to have all been extremely elaborate affairs, filled with live music, good food, and free-flowing champagne. He and Chris had danced through most of those evenings, and now…

“Must be strange, having me here but not… you know.” Viktor gestures between them. Christophe raises an eyebrow, before chuckling.

“No, not really,” he says. “You’re my friend. The benefits were nice while they were there, but…” He trails off, looking into his mug of wine. “You and Yuuri are good together, though. Who’d have known, though, after Sochi?”

Viktor laughs. “We’re lucky that way, I guess,” he says. “I said as much over text, but — I’m sorry to hear about Masumi.”

Christophe waves a hand. “He was sweet; we’re also still friends.” Still, his expression is downcast, and he doesn’t look at Viktor. “We can’t all find the one wrapped around a pole at a banquet in Sochi, can we?”

“You know perfectly well I’ve had just as many failed relationships as you,” Viktor replies. Most of his had been centred around people being more enraptured with the matryoshka-like layers of fame and glory than the man tucked within, but Christophe of all people would already know about that. 

Christophe sighs, hazel eyes looking up and boring into Viktor’s own. “Let’s not think too hard about that,” he suggests. “It’s your birthday tomorrow; what would you like to do?”

Viktor wags an eyebrow. “That’s between me and Yuuri,” he says, grinning. Christophe chuckles at that. 

“Fair,” he concedes. “But are you sure you don’t want my help? We could drive into town and find some nice ribbons to truss yourself up in.”

Viktor snorts. “Usually on one’s birthday, it’s the partner who gets gift-wrapped.”

“We all know you like it the other way around,” replies Christophe, rolling his eyes, and well. Viktor can’t argue with that. 

“And what about you?” he asks. “Do you have your eyes set on anyone here?”

Two spots of colour appear in Christophe’s cheeks. “If I did, I wouldn’t tell you,” he replies, and that piques Viktor’s interest. 

“ _Really_.” He leans in, dials up the puppy eyes. “Why not? You said we’re friends, right?”

Christophe coughs at that. “Come on, Vik, just drop it.”

“You pried out all of the details about my and Yuuri’s sex life; it’s only fair I hear more about yours,” retorts Viktor.

Christophe’s cheeks only darken at that. “Okay, fine, you get one yes-no question.”

Viktor grins gleefully. “Are they at this party?” 

Christophe purses his lips. And then he nods, and if it wouldn’t have given the entire game away, Viktor would’ve punched the air. 

It’s just a one in… however many guests that aren’t family or him and Yuuri chance that it’s Phichit, after all. And Viktor does rather like playing with long odds. 

* * *

After the s’mores have all been eaten, Yuuri and Phichit pitch in with helping out with some final decorating touches. After all, there are still a couple banisters not trimmed in garlands of green, and a couple trees not bedecked in tinsel glistening like the icicles outside. Some of the children have also contributed paper snowflakes for the windows in the playroom in the basement; Yuuri is temporarily distracted there by a Pac-Man machine. 

He’s pulled out of his gaming reverie by a familiar whiff of shampoo and a warm puff of breath at his nape. “Hard at work, I see,” Viktor’s voice resounds. Yuuri leans into him, one elbow jerking back as he guides Pac-Man away from a pursuing ghost. 

“I’m five hundred points away from setting a new high score,” Yuuri replies. 

Viktor slips his hands away, having probably remembered the last time he distracted Yuuri hard enough to cause him to lose his game. Yuuri chuckles at that, shifting forward and concentrating on manoeuvring Pac-Man through the labyrinth, until —

The game makes a miserable whirring noise, signalling Pac-Man’s death. A new high score noise blares as well, and Yuuri happily puts in his name before turning around and grinning at Viktor, who presses a kiss to his forehead.

“That’s my World Champion,” he declares. “Now come help me string up some mistletoe.”

Yuuri follows him to the box full of mistletoe berries tied with ribbon. “Where do you intend to put these?” he asks. 

“Good places,” says Viktor, hefting the box into his arms. “Big crowded doorways, living room windows… but most importantly, wherever Phichit and Christophe are. That’s where I really need your help, my dear.”

Yuuri raises an eyebrow. “What if it doesn’t work?” he asks. “Phichit hinted he and Chris already talk a lot, so… what if they already know they’re not into each other like that?”

“Chris told me that he’s got his eyes set on someone at this party,” says Viktor. “Probably none of his family members, hopefully not me or you, and probably not Mila and… her girlfriend, that Italian —”

“Sara,” says Yuuri. “Chris could be talking about her brother, though.”

“I doubt it; he’s not really Chris’s type,” says Viktor thoughtfully as they mount the stairs back up to the ground level. His eyes sparkle almost as brightly as the snow drifts outside the window; for a brief moment Yuuri is reminded of Phichit himself whenever he’s about to send Yuuri on another blind date prior to Viktor. “Also, I suspect their Czech friend might have something to say about that.”

Yuuri laughs. “It’s probably not Yurio, is it?” He’d collided with Yuri and Otabek as they arrived earlier in the afternoon; the younger Russian had been showing off his knitted leopard-print sweater to anyone unfortunate enough to be within earshot. Viktor snorts at the mere concept.

“Definitely not,” he says. “In all honesty, I like the odds that he’s interested in Phichit, so we’ll just have to nudge them in the right direction —”

He cuts off, eyes going wide with glee. Yuuri follows his gaze, seeing Phichit and Christophe coming down the hallway. 

“Quick, right here,” Viktor hisses, shoving the box of mistletoe at Yuuri before grabbing a tack and pinning a sprig of mistletoe into the archway. “Perfect. Now we just have to —”

“Viktor,” says Yuuri, with a sudden beat of realisation. “Maybe you should’ve put that somewhere else.”

“What?” asks Viktor, tugging at Yuuri’s sleeve. “Come on, let’s hide and watch —”

“Viktor, you put it above  _our_  heads.”

A pause. Viktor looks up at the festoon of mistletoe dangling right above them. Yuuri can’t help but laugh, especially at the bright pink flush that appears in Viktor’s cheeks as he, too, realises what he’d done. 

The rest of the box crashes to the floor as Yuuri surges up to kiss him. 

After it becomes apparent that they’re never going to get anything done together if they insist on ‘checking’ every piece of mistletoe (to, you know, make sure it works), Yuuri and Viktor decide to split the box between themselves and hang the rest of them up completely solo. 

Naturally, this leads to Yuuri managing to locate Phichit and Christophe again when he’s trying to attach a festoon onto a pan hook in the kitchen. Christophe is ladling some mulled wine into a cup for Phichit, who in turn is chattering eagerly about his plans for New Year’s Eve in New York City with Leo and Guang-Hong.

“—They’re super sorry they couldn’t make it this year; Leo’s family are a bunch of Disney nuts who go to Disney World for Christmas every other year. And of course Leo invited Guang-Hong this year; they’ve been blowing up group chat with all these photos and I’m trying to make them jealous with all the good food here but man. My FOMO’s kicking in so hard right now.”

“I could see why you’d rather go to Disney World than here,” Christophe replies, with a teasing twinkle in his eyes. 

“Oh come on, and leave the rest of you guys behind? Next year we should all just go to Disney World together. Can you imagine Viktor and Yuuri on Splash Mountain?”

“Viktor would either think it’s the best thing in the world, or complain about his hair getting wet.” Christophe chuckles. “And no doubt Yuuri would probably herd us through the park and have a game plan of all the rides to go on and everything.”

“What, are you telling me you _don’t_ have a game plan whenever you visit a Disney park?” demands Phichit. “What kind of human being  _are_  you?”

“The kind that likes to make the most out of every moment,” replies Christophe, his voice low, almost sensual. It’s too perfect of a moment, which is why the universe suddenly decides that that’s also the moment when Yuuri loses his footing on the stool next to the kitchen island and comes tumbling down with an almighty crash. 

“Oh my god.” There’s a scrambling of feet and moments later Phichit is by his side. “Yuuri! We didn’t know you were — is that  _mistletoe_?”

“I’m decorating the house,” Yuuri blusters, his pride and knees both smarting in pain. He quickly checks himself over for injuries, waving off Christophe’s offer to grab some bandages. “I’m just going to, you know, crawl into the nearest snowbank and never emerge again, don’t mind me.”

He shuffles off, taking cover in the pantry just in time to see Christophe help Phichit to his feet, and Phichit point upwards to the sprig of mistletoe above their heads. Christophe’s cheeks tinge pink; he ducks down and presses a kiss to Phichit’s cheek before stepping back and focusing on the mulled wine instead. 

Yuuri takes that as his cue to run out of the kitchen, the rest of the mistletoe clutched in his hands. 

* * *

By the time dinner rolls around, Yuuri’s knees and pride are both quite bruised, but he puts on a smile anyway as he and Viktor make their way to the dining room where a smorgasbord of food is arrayed for them. Outside the high windows here the sun has slipped behind the mountains, and the twilight is settling swiftly upon the vale. 

“The mistletoe worked a little too well,” Viktor whispers once they fill their plates and head to the living room to eat. Christophe’s family have provided disposable cutlery and plates for tonight, evidently saving the nice dishes for the gala tomorrow. The food, though, is still remarkably delicious. Especially the fondue — Yuuri has dipped his way through several fountains of cheese, and is already thinking of going back for more. 

“Too well?” he echoes.

“Sara and Mila have taken it upon themselves to double-check every sprig,” replies Viktor, and Yuuri laughs at that. 

“No wonder they haven’t made an appearance at dinner yet,” he notes, and Viktor stifles a chuckle into his glass of wine. 

They’re joined moments later by Christophe, whose plate is also piled high with food. “So I hear you two were on mistletoe duty this afternoon,” he remarks through a bite of bread. Yuuri and Viktor both immediately adopt identical wide-eyed expressions of innocence. 

“We wanted to help out with the decorations,” replies Viktor. “Least we could do with all of the hospitality we’ve already gotten!”

“I’m sure my family appreciates all of your help,” replies Christophe, smiling. “How are you enjoying everything else, though? Got any plans for the morning tomorrow?”

“What are  _your_  plans?” Yuuri counters. Viktor looks as if he’d very much like to high-five him, if it wouldn’t make their intentions super obvious. 

Christophe taps his lips. “I was thinking about taking some people on a sleigh tour of the area, show them the town and the woods and stuff. Would you two want to come along?” 

Viktor and Yuuri look at each other. “We’ll think about it,” says Viktor.

“I bet Phichit would love to go,” adds Yuuri. 

“I’ll have to ask him,” says Christophe, grinning widely. “Who else do you think would like to go? Yuri and Otabek, maybe?”

“Yurio hates horses,” says Viktor immediately. “Absolutely hates their smell and everything. He’ll complain the entire time.” 

“I thought he —” begins Yuuri, but Viktor elbows him. “Oh, yeah! Definitely. A horse bit him once; he’s hated them ever since.”

“Really?” Christophe’s eyes narrow slightly. “Never heard about that from him. Oh well, he’ll probably spend the day snowboarding with Otabek or something.”

“I bet Phichit would like to go alone,” declares Yuuri. “Well, maybe with you. But no one else. It would spoil the view.”

“I’m sure he’d make an exception for you two,” Christophe points out.

“When would you be going?” asks Viktor. 

“Probably around eight —”

“Nope.” Viktor’s grin has bypassed shit-eating and is approaching something like ‘heart-shaped shit vacuum’. Yuuri sincerely hopes they don’t look nearly as avoidant as they seem. 

“We’re not going to be awake then,” he explains.

“And even if we are, we’ll be occupied,” adds Viktor, with a suggestive eyebrow waggle.

Christophe’s eyes narrow further. “Are you two planning something?” he asks. 

“Definitely not,” they both say in unison. 

“That sounds like planning to me,” Phichit’s voice cuts in. He plops down next to Yuuri the second after, grinning from ear to ear. “What’s the Viktuuri holiday surprise this year? Last year was the engagement and the pair skate at the GPF, so…”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Yuuri replies, completely deadpan. “Viktor and I just want to spend some quality time in bed.”

“Completely naked,” adds Viktor pointedly.

“Hint hint, wink wink, say no more,” Christophe declares. “I get it, you two want to fuck. We won’t be expecting you on our sleigh ride, then?”

“Absolutely not,” replies Viktor angelically. Yuuri’s frankly astounded the heavens haven’t opened up to give him a halo yet. 

Christophe and Phichit exchange a look at that, but they say nothing more about it as they tuck into the rest of their fondue. 

* * *

So with their targets assuming that they’re going to spend the morning in, Viktor and Yuuri take it upon themselves to get up and get dressed around eight the next day. 

“We could just spend the morning in bed like we said we would,” Viktor says as they tramp through the snow towards the stables. Yuuri, who has never backed down from a challenge he signed up for, shakes his head and presses on further. 

“We need some way to keep an eye on them on their sleigh ride,” he points out. “And since we don’t have a car out here, we’ll have to get the next best thing.”

“Do you even _know_  how to ride a horse?” asks Viktor. Yuuri shrugs. 

“They let children ride them; it can’t be that hard, right?”

That, too, also turns out to be famous last words hours later, as the two of them struggle to keep out of sight of the sleigh as it — and Christophe and Phichit — wends its way down through the valley towards the little town of Rittberger. Viktor has a bit of a better handle on his horse, while Yuuri spends most of his time worrying about whether or not he’s going to fall off. 

At first, they’re content to follow along the road, horse hooves clopping in the snow alongside the sleigh tracks in the field nearby. But after a while they reach a wide field shrouded in a light morning fog, and the tracks seem to go every which way. Viktor pulls his horse to a stop, looking around him with furrowed brows.

“Do you have any idea where we are?” he asks. Yuuri purses his lips, taking out his phone to check for signal. Unsurprisingly, there’s none. 

“Maybe we should just follow the sleigh tracks and see where it goes,” he suggests instead. Viktor nods, guiding his horse towards one set of tracks and continuing in that direction. It takes Yuuri a while longer to follow suit, but he quickly catches up, wincing at the extra bouncing as he does. 

“I’m never getting back onto a horse once we drop these back off at the stables,” he declares. “Movies make horse riding out to be some cool, painless thing that anyone can do.”

“Those are usually stunt doubles,” replies Viktor, though he has a similar pinched expression to his face. They continue along the stretch of tracks for a couple kilometres or so, before —

“Oh,” says Yuuri, as the sound of blades against ice comes up out of nowhere. The mist disperses somewhat, and they suddenly find themselves at the edge of a wide pond on which several people are skating hand-in-hand. 

Viktor turns to him, eyes shining. In that moment, all thoughts of trying to find Phichit and Christophe fly out of Yuuri’s head. 

“Yes, let’s,” he says, and they turn their horses around. 

They find a spot at the side of the pond to tie up the horses, and head over to the small rack of rental skates that the ski resort has set up next to the pond. Moments later, Yuuri finds himself lacing up the rental skates with a slight wince, as they definitely feel much heavier on his feet than what he’s used to.

“I haven’t skated in shitty rental skates since I was six,” Viktor declares cheerily. Yuuri snorts at that, taking his hand as they step out onto the ice. Viktor almost slips immediately. 

“Who will win? A five-time World Champion in figure skating, or two rented boys?” jokes Yuuri as he steadies his fiancé. Viktor pouts at that, but it doesn’t last long; he’s quickly back to his usual sunny self as they take a couple experimental laps of the rink together just to get used to the clunky boots. 

Some kids race past them as they take another lap, talking animatedly in French. Yuuri entwines his fingers with Viktor’s, losing himself in the warmth of his fiancé’s hand as they circle the pond just one more time before — 

“I thought you two were spending the morning in?” Yuuri blinks, turning at the sound of Phichit’s voice. He and Christophe are at the side of the pond, their sleigh parked just a couple meters away. 

“I — we —” Yuuri fumbles for the words, but Viktor merely laughs, pulling Yuuri close. 

“We decided we were in the mood for skating instead,” he says. 

“Right.” Christophe’s gaze darts down to their clunky rental boots. “You didn’t bother borrowing a pair from the house?”

“Viktor hasn’t skated in shitty rentals since he was a kid,” replies Yuuri, shrugging. “He wanted to remember what it was like to fall on his ass.”

“Hey,” mutters Viktor, pouting harder, but Phichit and Christophe chuckle at that. 

“We’re wrapping up our tour, so we’ll probably be back here soon,” says Christophe, clapping Phichit on the back. “In the meantime: please get Bertie and Bertha back to the stables? They’ll get agitated if they don’t get their noontime meal.”

And with that they head back to the sleigh, which quickly rushes off across the snow with the merry tinkling of bells. Yuuri looks at Viktor, whose cheeks are rosy from a mixture of embarrassment and the cold. 

“One more lap before we go?” he suggests, and Viktor nods, wobbling along with him as they weave through the other skaters on the pond.

* * *

In the afternoon, Yuuri finds himself being loaded onto a ski lift alongside Viktor, twin pairs of skis strapped to their feet. On the chair just in front, Christophe and Phichit are also clad in skis, and seem to be avidly posing for selfies with the slope dropping far below their feet.

“Smile, Yuuri,” Viktor says cheerily. Yuuri flashes the victory sign and beams. “Do you think our plan is working?”

Yuuri snorts. “How much of that is us, though?” he wonders, gesturing at how Phichit and Christophe are chattering up ahead. “They get along so well even without our prompting.”

“That’s how wingmanning _works_ ,” Viktor points out. “You just get them into the right situations and watch the fireworks.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like they needed prompting from us, especially since we’ve been distracted more often than focused.”

Viktor sighs. “I suppose,” he concedes. “But you did get them to kiss with the mistletoe, right?”

“On the cheek,” Yuuri argues. “Not exactly a sign of passionate interest.”

“Well, we’re just going to have to keep an eye on them this afternoon,” declares Viktor. “Chris is an excellent skier. What about Phichit?”

Yuuri purses his lips. “We sometimes spend a portion of winter break after Japanese Nationals on the slopes in Colorado with Leo and Guang-Hong,” he says. “Phichit picked it up, but I don’t think he’s anywhere near as good as Chris, if Chris’s family spends the holidays every year doing this.”

“What about you?” asks Viktor, grinning. Yuuri flushes.

“My family sometimes goes up to Geto Kogen around New Year’s,” he says. “Some distant relatives of my mother’s runs a ski resort and onsen up there.”

“Does running onsens just… run in the family?” asks Viktor, grinning. Yuuri snorts.

“Maybe,” he concedes. “What about you, though?”

“A couple trips to Rosa Khutor,” says Viktor, “besides the holiday galas here. I’m probably not as good as you, unfortunately.”

“I dunno,” admits Yuuri. “I’m used to much more powdery snow.”

The lift deposits them at the top moments later. Up here, the Giacometti family chalet is a speck in the vale below the steep mountain ridge. The course in front is a swathe of white, not unlike the courses in Tohoku that he and Mari had raced each other down when they were younger. Though, admittedly, there are a lot less trees.

Christophe and Phichit are already making their way down, their laughs wafting up from below. Nearby, Emil and Sara have buckled on their snowboards. They set off immediately, Sara yelling something about catching up to Phichit. 

Yuuri turns and smiles at Viktor, extending one heavily-gloved hand. Viktor reaches out, squeezes it before snapping on his goggles and pulling down his hat. He seems a little peaked at their current altitude; Yuuri has the sudden suspicion that Viktor has never been down anything more challenging than a red piste. 

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, nodding towards the black slope marker. “It’s a pretty difficult course.”

“Everyone else has gone down this one,” says Viktor. “I’m not a coward.”

Yuuri chuckles. “No one said you were,” he says, hefting up his poles. “Come on, Viktor, try and catch me!” 

And with that, he takes off down the slope, Viktor’s shout of alarmed delight echoing in his ears.

Halfway down the course, however, Yuuri starts to suspect that the universe is determined to prove that he and Viktor aren’t cut out for playing wingmen. After all, they keep on losing Phichit and Christophe, or getting distracted themselves. Also, there’s no way they should’ve gotten lost going down this slope towards the chalet, and yet — 

“We’re lost, aren’t we?” asks Viktor. 

Yuuri sighs. “Probably,” he admits. The slope has plateaued, with only trees surrounding them. His boots are a little too tight and stiff; he shuffles sideways to get closer to Viktor, who’s in the wedge position as if his life depends on it.

How had they gotten here? There must have been a wrong turn that they’d taken a couple miles back. Maybe someone will notice that they haven’t shown up yet. The trail markers are absent, so they must have gone off-course. 

“I could’ve sworn I heard them earlier,” he frets, turning around. “Phichit and Chris — I thought they went this way.”

“Think we could call them?” wonders Viktor. 

“There’s no signal,” says Yuuri. Viktor sighs, but he still smiles, leaning on his poles. “You shouldn’t — those poles break easily.”

“Where do you think the chalet will be?” asks Viktor. 

“Um, well.” Yuuri looks around. Their plateau comes to an edge, which he shuffles over towards and then wishes he hadn’t, because the drop from there is ridiculously steep. Below is the valley again, and the little gingerbread cottage-like lodge buildings for the tourists. “I guess that way?” he asks, pointing to his right, along the ledge. Viktor bites his lip. 

“Is that a ledge?” he asks, gesturing to where Yuuri is standing. Yuuri nods, and Viktor bites his lip harder. “I don’t know, I’ve never skied on a hard trail before. What if I fall?”

“You probably should’ve told me you hadn’t skied a black piste before we went for one,” Yuuri rebukes. Viktor bristles a little at that.

“Everyone else was doing it, and I didn’t want to look like —” he cuts off, sighing. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I shouldn’t have come.”

“I shouldn’t have scolded you,” Yuuri counters. “We got ourselves into this, and we have to get ourselves out of it. I mean, they’ll probably notice you missing at the party, right?”

“They’ll notice _you_ missing, too,” Viktor points out. Yuuri laughs.

“Chris will probably think we’re up to no good, if we  _both_  fail to show up.”

Viktor sighs at that, and then slowly collapses into the snow, reaching down to pop off his skis. “Maybe we should walk down,” he says.

“I could ski on ahead, a little,” Yuuri replies. “I’ve got some experience with trees.”

“But you’ll ski too fast and I won’t be able to catch you,” protests Viktor.

“Then get your skis back on and join me,” says Yuuri. “Face it, Vitya, skis are the fastest way we’re getting anywhere. Come on —” he manoeuvres himself over, grabs Viktor’s poles. “Take my hand, we’ll get out of this together.”

Viktor looks at him with that familiar grin of wide-eyed adoration. Yuuri feels a shiver down his spine; Viktor only ever looks that exhilarated after performances.

“My Yuuri is so brave,” his fiancé declares, and Yuuri’s heart skips a beat.

“Come on,” he repeats, and starts to guide them along the ledge. Viktor keeps his skis slightly wedged even as they glide across the plateau. “We’ll get around to the right side of the mountain eventually.”

It’s slow going, but Yuuri manages to guide Viktor along the ledge. The plateau is fortunately is just wide enough that they can move side-by-side, Viktor holding onto Yuuri’s hand with a brittle, bracing smile on his face.

They eventually do come back to something like an incline, though there are trees peppered throughout, blocking their path. Viktor pales at that, though Yuuri looks down further ahead and sees a chimney of smoke through the lowest set of trees. “I think we might have come around to the other side of the slope,” he says. “The chalet’s probably in that direction.”

“How did we get that off course?” demands Viktor, but he’s grinning. Yuuri shrugs, handing Viktor his poles. 

“Would you think I’m weird if I told you that tree skiing is actually something I’m  _more_ comfortable with?” he asks. “Mari and I used to race through forests all the time when we went skiing.” 

Viktor gapes at him. “Do you just  _eat_  danger for breakfast, Yuuri Katsuki?” he demands.

“It’s a lot more interesting than a regular piste, okay,” Yuuri retorts. “Just don’t look at the trees as you go down, and you’ll be fine.”

“Don’t look at the — Yuuri, love of my life, light of my being, there’s nothing  _but_ trees down there.”

“Yes, but if you look at them, it makes your body turn towards them. Look at the spaces between the trees instead. Keep your hands up to avoid branches and narrow your stance.”

“Yuuri, if we get out of these trees alive because of you, I’m going to tie myself to the bed and never let you leave.”

Yuuri feels his entire body warming up at that suggestion. “Wouldn’t you need to have your hands and legs free to do that?”

“You’d leave me when I’m tied to the bed at your mercy?”

“Point,” Yuuri concedes. “Okay, just try to follow me down, all right?” He moves to push off from their ledge, but Viktor’s hands dart out to grab him, pulling him back for what is probably the most ungainly kiss of their lives, even less graceful than the first one they shared at the Cup of China last year. 

“I love you.”

“You’re not going to die,” Yuuri says, patting his shoulder. “You’re not a coward, after all.”

And with that, he pushes off into the tree-lined slope, with the chalet and Viktor’s gobsmacked expression in mind as he zooms off through the snow-capped pines.

For a skater who’s supposed to have the world’s biggest glass heart, Yuuri surprisingly doesn’t feel anything besides adrenaline-fuelled calm as he begins descending through the trees. 

Perhaps part of it is the fact that out here, only Viktor and the trees will ever see him crash and burn. Perhaps part of it is the fact that he’s already learnt several times during his childhood that the only thing panicking will get him out here is frostbite and a rescue operation, which will be even more embarrassing than whatever got him into that situation in the first place. He’s already been through the worst things that tree skiing could ever throw at him; the only thing he has to worry about here is the possibility that he could have misjudged the distance down to the chalet. 

But then at least they’ll be closer to help, as opposed to up here halfway on the mountain with no one else for company.

Yuuri swerves, aiming for a large gap between two pines. The snow here is much more powdery than on the regular slope, spraying up around him as he manoeuvres through a powder bank. He can hear Viktor nearby; when he next glimpses his fiancé, the man is slowly but steadily carving his way down just behind him. 

They make it down halfway before something happens. Every couple meters, they stop and regroup, trying to make sure the other person is in sight. But somewhere past what surely has to be the halfway point Yuuri suddenly notices that Viktor is nowhere to be seen, and his heart freezes. 

“Viktor?” he shouts, skidding to a stop and letting the powder fly everywhere. “Viktor, where —”

There’s a set of skis poking out of the bottom of a tree. Yuuri wills his heart to stay in his chest as he skis over to the tree, stopping and popping himself out of his skis. 

“Viktor!” he shouts, stepping over cautiously to survey the damage. The skis have popped off with Viktor’s collision with the tree, but the poles and the man himself are buried in a well at the base of the tree. 

He drops his own pole and leans over. “Viktor, I’ve got you. Don’t panic, okay?”

“Yuuri!” Viktor’s voice is muffled by the snow. “Yuuri, where are — I can’t see —”

“I’m going to try and get you out. You’re very close to a tree, so if you can move, try rocking yourself around to get some more air in.” Yuuri looks around, drags out Viktor’s skis and poles from the hole and lays them down with his own gear. Down below at what must be only a kilometer or two away is the chalet, a cheery chimney of smoke rising from the top. Phichit and Christophe must be back there by now, possibly getting ready for the gala tonight. 

He turns his attention back to his stuck fiance. Viktor’s struggling has lessened, and he’s righted himself, methodically rocking himself back and forth in the space. Yuuri starts to dig at the snow, trying to get it down to a compact enough level for Viktor to clamber out. 

“Are you okay?” he breathes, as soon as Viktor raises his goggles. “You didn’t hit your head, right?”

“No,” says Viktor, “I sorta skidded down here and rolled in on my side. Have you ever…?”

Yuuri snorts. “Too many,” he says.

“One time is too many,” Viktor points out.

“My point exactly.” Yuuri laughs a little, though at the moment he only has enough energy to get Viktor back to the chalet so that he can pass out in their room until the early evening. “Mari once dug me out of one when I was a kid; I was crying the entire time. I don’t know what terrifies my parents more, me falling on skating jumps or skiing into trees.” 

“You’re just so determined to hurt yourself,” teases Viktor.

“I could leave you in this tree well.”

“No, please. I love you, get me out.”

Yuuri laughs, and continues to dig. Luckily for them, the snow is not ridiculously deep, and eventually between the two of them they manage to compact enough for Viktor to clamber out. By then, however, the shadows are starting to lengthen, and they’re still quite far from their destination. 

Once he’s out, Viktor scrambles out clear of the hole and then flops down, looking up at the sky. “What a day,” he declares. “I almost died before my birthday.”

Yuuri laughs, sitting down next to him. “But you didn’t, because of me.”

“I’m never letting you leave the bed, just like I promised.” Viktor looks up at him. “Except first I need to find my energy again.”

“Maybe they’ll send out search parties,” says Yuuri. “I mean, we’re several hours overdue. Phichit’s probably super worried.”

“Oh god.” Viktor laughs wearily. “Chris will be, too. Maybe they’ll bond over being worried about us.”

Yuuri snorts at that. The next thing he knows, though, Viktor has tugged him down on top of him in a spray of white powder, raising one gloved hand to cup Yuuri’s cheek. Yuuri leans in, exhilaration still coursing headily through him as he looks at Viktor, watches the way his fiancé’s eyes shift needily to his lips. 

“There you two are!” an irritable voice cuts through. Moments later, a burst of snow hits Yuuri in the face and he scrambles off a heavily pouting Viktor just in time to see Yuri and Otabek, the two of them mounted on snowboards. Unsurprisingly, Yuri’s is patterned in leopard print to match his hat, scarf, and gloves. “Everyone’s been looking everywhere for you losers, and you’re just making out back here? What the hell?”

“Viktor fell into a tree well,” Yuuri explains, feeling his cheeks heat up. Next to Yuri, Otabek raises an eyebrow. “I just dug him out.”

“Whatever,” says Yuri, rolling his eyes as he claps his goggles back on. “We’re supposed to bring you back to the lodge, so come along.” 

It takes them a couple minutes to snap on their skis again, but when they do, the rest of the trip back goes uneventfully.

* * *

To celebrate his escape from the jaws of death, Viktor runs a bath in the tub of their ensuite, and convinces Yuuri to join him. For a while they’re content to just sit there, enveloped in each other’s warmth, but then Viktor’s hands start to move south, and they end up having to add a shower to their bath afterwards. 

Once they’re finally clean, they take it to the bed, dressed in matching bathrobes with towels wrapping up their hair. Viktor’s hands are soft as they slip up the hem of Yuuri’s robe; his fingertips are reverent as they press against Yuuri’s chest, one thumb running over his nipples. 

Yuuri moans against Viktor’s lips, moving to straddle his hips. Viktor tugs at his belt; the terrycloth falls open whisper-soft to expose Yuuri’s body to his hungry gaze. 

“Still not done?” Yuuri asks quietly, watching with growing heat in his cheeks as Viktor’s gaze roves lower, his fingertips dancing along in its wake. 

“I’ll never be done,” Viktor declares, his lips needy against Yuuri’s jugular. Yuuri bites down a moan, rocking his body forward into Viktor’s touch instead. 

There’s a sudden knock at the door. Mewling in frustration, Yuuri tips back and wraps himself back up in the robe. Viktor clambers to his feet, going over to answer the door. “Hello —” he begins, but is cut off by an excited scream.

“Yuuri!” screams Phichit. “We were all so worried! It’s a Christmas miracle you’re all right!”

“Viktor’s the one that ran into the tree,” Yuuri points out. 

“I heard you guided him down the slope! Ooh Viktor, did you know Yuuri’s had a lot of practice skiing with trees? Lots of those in Japan and Colorado, you know.”

“How was your own piste?” Viktor asks in return.

“It was a lot of fun! I went with Chris, and he’s been skiing almost as soon as he could stand, so I didn’t have to worry about anything at all. You know, it’s ridiculous he isn’t also winning skiing competitions, but I guess he prefers to do skating programmes instead. I mean, skiing isn’t nearly as sexy, so —”

“Phichit,  _what_  are you doing here?”

There’s a pause, as if Phichit’s trying to find a suitable excuse. Or remember exactly why he came in here, but Yuuri can’t quite tell the difference at this angle. 

“Preparing for the gala!” Phichit declares after a moment. “Get out, Viktor, Detroit fam only.”

“I need to at least get my clothes,” Viktor says from the doorway, his voice amused. 

“Get them and go,” replies Phichit, and Viktor quickly complies. 

As soon as Viktor leaves the room, Phichit turns to Yuuri, who’s clambered up into a sitting position. “Come on, you know how this has to go,” says his best friend. “I’m going to make you look so good, Viktor won’t be able to keep his eyes off you all night.”

Yuuri feels his cheeks colouring. “I’m… I wish I could return that favour, Phi, but you know how bad I am at this.”

“It’s a carefully-honed skill,” replies Phichit, clucking his tongue. “Come on, get into your tux. I’ll look away, if it bothers you.”

Yuuri laughs weakly. “Just… give me my garment bag,” he says. Phichit hands it over, and Yuuri slides into the bathroom to run a quick cold shower before climbing into his tux. 

When he emerges, Phichit descends upon him with a small box of makeup. “You’re sure you’re feeling all right? Almost losing Viktor to a tree well probably isn’t that fun.”

“It was terrifying,” Yuuri admits. “But I’ve… I’ve had to deal with that stuff before. So I wasn’t as terrified as I could have been.” He pauses. “Also, I’ve found that with Viktor, I feel like… I’m always a little more confident? I mean, it’s not like I’m not confident without him, but he makes me want to be better.”

“Like someone who rescues him from trees?” Phichit teases. Yuuri flushes at that, but he nods. 

“Yeah. I dunno. It’s been a lot easier lately to believe I can do things. Like win gold, or guide someone through a forest on skis, or… or take charge of things.”

Phichit clearly hears ‘in bed’ appended to that, because he smirks widely, and Yuuri feels his ears heating up. 

“What about you?” he asks. “You said you had fun skiing today, right? Did you fall at all?”

“Once,” says Phichit, his cheeks flushing as well. “Chris got me up quickly.”

“He’s… pretty nice, isn’t he?”

Phichit laughs. “Mean people don’t invite you to their family chalet for winter fun and a charity gala,” he points out.

“What do you think about him, though?” asks Yuuri. “Do you know if he’s recovered from, you know, Masumi?”

Phichit arches an eyebrow. “Why would you care about that?” he asks.

“I’m just concerned,” replies Yuuri innocently. 

Phichit laughs. “Right, and I’m the King of Thailand. Okay, turn this way so I can finish winging your eyeliner. God you’re so lucky you only need a light BB cream; Sara stole all of my concealer because she recently had an outbreak and we’re very close in skin tone.”

“I think I only understood three of the words you just said,” Yuuri mutters. “And one of them was Sara’s name.”

Phichit laughs. “Just shut up and let me work my magic,” he replies, so Yuuri does.

* * *

As soon as the bedroom door swings shut on him, Viktor hefts his trousers and his garment bag, and toddles down to Christophe’s room. 

Christophe’s expression is amused when he opens the door. “How’d you get kicked out like this?” he demands. 

“Phichit wanted to prepare Yuuri for the party,” Viktor replies, shrugging. “Can I change in here?”

Christophe steps aside to let him in. Viktor hangs up the garment bag and steps into his pants, undoing his robe once he does so. Christophe grabs his phone and starts flicking through his Instagram as Viktor slowly dresses himself, humming along to the cheery Christmas radio blaring from his laptop. 

“I heard you had a near-death experience today,” he says after a moment. Viktor looks up from where he’s buttoning his shirt, and chuckles weakly. 

“Yeah, I crashed into a tree,” he says. “But Yuuri got me out.”

“The great Viktor Nikiforov, defeated by a tree,” declares Christophe. “Thought I’d never see the day.”

“Ha, ha.” Viktor adjusts the collar, before putting on his socks, his trousers, and his belt. “You getting dressed for your own gala party, or are you just going to stand there and make fun of my brush with death?”

After a while, both of them end up in their tuxes in the foyer of the chalet, where the biggest Christmas tree is arrayed in a spectacle of ornaments and lights. Soft music filters through the room, and gala guests are gathered around with flutes of champagne and small plates of hors d’oeuvres. Viktor grabs two flutes from a passing server, going to meet Christophe at the base of the grand wooden staircase. 

“Don’t you ever get tired of all of this?” asks Christophe, waving his flute around. “My ancestors, my uncles and aunts, my parents — they all seem to think one night of charitable giving will make up for a year’s worth of… not. I mean, there are some decent folks in the bunch, but on the whole? There’s no way we could’ve built and maintained a property this ostentatious without hurting someone else in the process.”

“Have you ever considered skipping out on this?” wonders Viktor. 

“They’re pretty much my biggest sponsors,” retorts Christophe, laughing. “They’ve supported me throughout my career as a skater. Unlike other sponsors, they don’t care that I’m always the bridesmaid, never the bride.” He sends Viktor a pointed smile at that, and Viktor feels his cheeks heating up.

“Not Yuuri’s fault that he skated a better programme than you,” he says, a little defensive. Christophe laughs.

“I don’t begrudge him that,” he replies, shaking his head. “But there’s only so many years left in all of us. I’ve tried for just as long as he has. I’ll just have to try harder.”

“I wish you luck with that,” says Viktor, glancing upwards briefly before blinking and doing a double take. 

Yuuri and Phichit have arrived at the top of the staircase, and Viktor vaguely wonders when his life had become a badly-scripted romcom, because he can’t tear his gaze away from Yuuri’s dazzling smile as the other man descends the staircase. His eyes are winged in eyeliner, his cheeks seem to glow and shimmer, and his lips are tinted a rosy, kissable red. Coupled with the tuxedo in its accents of silver and red, and Viktor might as well be watching him perfrom Eros once more, skillfully blending masculine and feminine into one alluring person. 

Next to him he hears a throat being cleared, and he turns to see Christophe’s sucker-punched expression as he watches them — but the other man’s eyes are not fixed on Yuuri. 

“Chris!” Phichit exclaims, beaming brilliantly once they get to the bottom. “Do you like what I’ve done with Yuuri?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking Viktor that?” Christophe manages, his voice a little hoarse. Yuuri’s ears tint vaguely pink.

“That’s useless,” Phichit replies. “I could dress Yuuri in a paper bag and Viktor would still think he’s the most well-dressed person on this planet. I mean, the guy regularly sees him lounging around in sweats, and still wants to marry him.”

“Are you suggesting Yuuri _doesn’t_ look good in sweats?” Christophe demands. “Because I still remember this one time he showed up to a competition in Juniors wearing these little sweatpants with ‘JUICY’ across the ass, and nearly got disqualified for sabotaging the competition.”

Yuuri’s ears have turned bright red now. “Shut up, Chris,” he says.

“I wonder where those sweats have gone,” chimes in Viktor as he takes Yuuri’s hand, pressing a kiss to the knuckles. He then offers him his elbow. “Shall we?”

Yuuri beams at him as he takes his arm. 

* * *

The charity gala has two components: a dinner segment, and a dance. Yuuri’s not sure how they managed to find seating for everyone, but clearly several pieces of furniture in the various living rooms had been moved out for that to be a possibility. 

He and Viktor and Phichit are seated at a table with the other skaters. Yuri, Otabek, Sara, Mila, Emil, and Michele are all dressed up for the occasion, though Yuri is clearly put off by his stifling blue suit. Yuuri vaguely hopes none of them are expecting him to crack out the champagne. 

Christophe has been placed with his family members, though he doesn’t seem extremely thrilled about it; he picks at his food throughout the meal, and sends longing looks towards the skater table every once in a while. Yuuri tries to concentrate on his food, but part of him keeps sneaking glances at Phichit to see if the other man is responding at all to Christophe’s looks. 

But Phichit seems to be totally engrossed in his food whenever Yuuri happens to glance at him, so Yuuri has to refocus his attention on Viktor trying to hold his hand under the table instead. 

By the time dessert rolls around, Viktor has managed to get ahold of his hand and is gently stroking across his knuckles. Yuuri squeezes back, feeling a shiver run up his spine as Viktor moves their joined hands to his lap. At first, they rest at his knee, but slowly, inexorably, they start moving up his thigh.

Yuuri sends Viktor a pointed look, to which Viktor only respond with a cheeky grin.

“What are your plans for tomorrow, Vitya?” asks Mila from across the table. Viktor shrugs, causing Yurio to scoff.

“He hates celebrating his birthday,” the younger Russian declares. “It’s just a reminder that he’s an old man with a foot in the grave.”

“I liked my birthday last year,” Viktor replies. “We spent it with Yuuri’s parents. They got us a cake!”

“You always get Christmas cakes on Christmas in Japan, stupid,” says Yuri. 

“But they made sure to add ‘Happy Birthday Vicchan’ to theirs, so it was special,” replies Viktor, and Yuuri chuckles a little, squeezing his hand under the table.

“I hear the sleigh rides are fun this time of the year,” Sara remarks from next to Mila, with a wink. “You should also go into town, if you haven’t already! Rittberger’s shops close early tomorrow, at around three, so you’ll have to go in the morning.”

“Great place for last-minute gifts,” agrees Mila. “We’re probably all exchanging gifts tomorrow anyway, so if you get us something from the town, we won’t mind.”

Viktor laughs. “Nice try, but Yuuri and I already did our shopping for you.”

“Oh my god, they’re _that_ couple,” Sara gasps. 

“The kind that give joint presents,” Mila laments. “Terrible. Next thing you know they’ll be sending each other birthday cards from their dogs.”

Yuuri flushes, just as Viktor adds, “Makkachin is a very thoughtful boy.”

“Oh my  _god_.” Sara cackles. “You two are adorable.” 

After the dinner section concludes, the tables are cleared and a small brass band is brought in for the dancing. “How does one family be so extra just for one party?” Yuuri wonders as he and Phichit watch people start to dance. Viktor has been commandeered by some of the younger cousins, while Christophe tends to recording donations at a table next to a small Christmas tree in the corner.

“You’d be surprised,” says Phichit. “My family reunions can get this extra, too.”

“I know Viktor’s family is also ridiculous,” mutters Yuuri. “And I heard Leo’s are Disney nuts. I feel like maybe I’m the only skater in this generation to have a normal family.”

“Guang-Hong’s parents are normal,” says Phichit, his expression amused. “He worked out his scholarship and sponsorships himself. I suppose it helps that his family has connections in Harbin so he can go up and use their facilities, but —”

“Okay, but. Innkeepers who know nothing about figure skating.”

“Point.” Phichit laughs. “But that makes you special, doesn’t it? Means every achievement you earn came as the result of hard work, instead of hard work with a dose of money and connections.”

Yuuri sighs, watching Viktor circle past with a giggling little girl in his arms. “Doesn’t really help the feeling that I’m intruding on a world where I have no place.”

“You took the gold in the last GPF,” Phichit points out. “You belong here.”

They subside into a comfortable silence then, watching the party carry on. The song ends, but Christophe still doesn’t budge from the donations, and one of his cousins is making his way over. 

“Do you want to dance?” Yuuri asks suddenly, causing Phichit to blink at him.

“I thought you had to be peeled off the wall like the wallflower you are,” he remarks.

“Well, it’s me, or Chris’s cousin.” Yuuri nods in his direction. Phichit considers it, and then takes Yuuri’s hand.

And if Yuuri tries to steer him closer to Christophe’s corner, well, that’s mostly just his business. 

By the end of the end of the dance, Phichit is laughing in exhilaration. Yuuri considers it a job well done, as he jokingly dips his friend again and smiles at the way Phichit whoops in response, his foot kicking out in his best impression of Ginger Rogers. 

Another song starts up, but just as they’re turning back towards the crowd of dancers, Yuuri feels a tap on his shoulder. Christophe’s cousin, who has more beard and less hair than Christophe, extends a hand to Phichit. 

“May I cut in?” he asks. Yuuri heaves a sigh and looks towards Phichit, who smiles and nods. The cousin takes his hand, whisks him off into the crowd. Yuuri, in turn, only has to turn to find Mila standing in front of him, her head tilted in amusement.

“You’re up to something,” she declares, extending a hand. Yuuri takes it; they move into the crowd of dancers. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says as he starts to lead her. A couple meters away, Phichit and Christophe’s cousin are talking quietly; the cousin is laughing at everything Phichit says. Near them, Viktor has dropped off his little dance partners and gone for refreshments. And Christophe himself still hasn’t budged from the refreshments table. 

“You and Vitya are so bad at hiding things, especially while together,” replies Mila, the smile on her lips threatening to bare her teeth. “Are you two trying to wingman your wingmen?”

Yuuri blinks. “What,  _no_!” he lies. 

Mila’s face would not have looked out of place on a particularly perceptive cat. “How’s that working out for you, exactly?” she presses on.

“We’re not doing anything of the sort,” Yuuri maintains.

“Right,” she states, her eyes dancing with mischief. “And the rest of us don’t have eyes. Good luck with that.” She opens her mouth to ask another question, but at that moment, someone steps up to tap Mila’s shoulder.

It’s Viktor, smiling from ear to ear.

“I’d like to be with my fiancé,” Viktor declares. Mila’s eyes narrow briefly, but she relinquishes her hold on Yuuri’s hand. Viktor slips in, almost as sure as breathing, and twirls Yuuri just out of earshot.

“We need to get the two of them to dance together,” he declares as soon as they’re free, and Yuuri blinks up in response.

“ _What_?” he asks.

“Well, look at it this way,” says Viktor. “We fell in love with one dance, right?”

“A dance I don’t actually remember, but yes, let’s go with that,” says Yuuri.

Viktor shoots him a somewhat hurt look. “The  _point_  is,” he maintains, “that dance at the banquet changed my life for the better, because it showed me how much better life could be with you in it.”

Yuuri’s cheeks heat up. “Has anyone ever told you you’re an incurable sap?”

“No, because no one else knows about it,” replies Viktor sweetly. Yuuri’s blush intensifies, especially as Viktor takes that moment in the dance to dip him low. The feeling of just letting go, trusting Viktor to hold him — it’s been a long time coming, learning the concept that he  _didn’t_  have to stress over every little thing that can go wrong. Having Viktor there to catch him makes it easier for him to fall.

And in the photographs of the banquet, it had been the other way around. Yuuri had dipped him during their first dance together, had shown him the time of his life and imprinted on his heart. Viktor’s smile during those dances had been the brightest and most genuine smiles Yuuri’s ever seen from him in a photo, and to this day Yuuri still thinks it supremely unfair that the universe won’t let him remember any of it.

Viktor’s voice jolts him out of his reverie. “I was thinking that since it worked for us,  _to some extent_ , maybe it’ll work for them, too. We just have to get Chris away from the donation table for a bit, and… and set the right mood.”

“This isn’t already a good mood?” Yuuri asks, gesturing to the bright, glistening lights and the brass band solemnly playing Christmas carols. 

“Would you dance anything besides a sedate ballroom waltz to this?” demands Viktor. “The band’s only human, right? They’ll be going on break soon. We need to get the right mood with the music they play in lieu of the band while they’re resting.”

Yuuri makes a small ‘ah’ of understanding. “We have to talk to Otabek,” he says.

“Talk to Yurio, get him to convince Otabek,” says Viktor. “Yurio listens to you more, anyway. And I’ll go free Chris from his obligations.”

Yuuri smiles, just as the piece ends and the band announces a short break. “Okay,” he says. “Ganba, Viktor.”

“You’ll need it more than me,” says Viktor with a grin, kissing Yuuri’s forehead before pulling back. “I’ll see you in a bit? Meet me at the refreshments.”

Yuuri nods, and goes off to find Yuri.

He finds Otabek sooner than Yuri, though. Neither of the two had been at the party upstairs, so Yuuri had decided to check down in the basement where the children are supposed to have migrated. 

(Well, neither Yuri nor Otabek are really  _children_  at this point, but they do still seem to tuck themselves away from most of the adults at big parties, lost in their own little world. Yuuri’s often tempted to join them, if he hadn’t been so busy courting sponsors as the new champion or something.)

Otabek is seated at a baby grand piano in the basement, running through the melody of a piece Yuuri doesn’t recognise. Perhaps it’s his own composition, perhaps it’s just an obscure piece he doesn’t know. He clears his throat, and the music stops.

“Hey,” he says. Otabek nods briefly, before turning back to the keys. 

“Just tapping something out,” he says.

“You play really well,” says Yuuri. “I used to take lessons as a kid, too, but then skating swallowed most of my free time.”

“I make time,” says Otabek, “but I’m not as good as some of my friends. I just have an uncle who runs a music shop back in Almaty.” He chuckles a bit. “I used to play on the stuff there after finishing schoolwork.”

“You go to uni in the US, right?” asks Yuuri. Otabek nods. “Must be hard living away from home. I did it for a while, too.”

“Yeah.” Otabek shrugs. “Can you play something?”

Yuuri freezes. “Um. Well,” he manages, but Otabek shuffles to the side on the bench, and Yuuri sits down next to him. “I don’t really know anything classical anymore, but…” He starts to pick out a melody with its accompanying chords, and Otabek raises an eyebrow at him.

“Boston?” he asks. 

Yuuri laughs. “Yeah, I listened to this song a lot when I flew out to the States for the first time. It… cheered me up, though at the time I didn’t know most of the lyrics.”

Otabek hums, and starts to play a set of chords. Yuuri laughs.

“Play that Song?”

“This one person in my dorm keeps playing it on the piano in the lounge.” Otabek rolls his eyes. “I didn’t know for a couple of months that there actually was a song with this tune and he wasn’t just completely bullshitting it.”

“Yeah, that took me a bit, too.” Yuuri sighs, tapping out the melody line with him. But then he suddenly remembers what he originally came down here to do, and puts a hand just above Otabek’s wrist, stilling him. 

“Listen, could you do me a favour?”

Otabek raises an eyebrow. “Anything for one of Yura’s friends,” he replies. “What is it?”

* * *

“I can’t imagine  _this_  is where you would want to spend your evening,” Viktor remarks. Christophe looks up at him from the table with a sigh, and shakes his head.

“I don’t,” he agrees. “But I picked the charity this year, which means I’m stuck fielding all the donations. I should’ve let Uncle Mortimer win with Oxfam, even if they’re notorious for misusing their funds.”

“To say the least,” remarks Viktor. “So, what are you supposed to do, exactly?”

“Watch the donation box, help people fill out donation forms on the laptop here, stuff like that.” Christophe waves vaguely towards the MacBook next to him. “Very dull, clerical things. I’d much rather be dancing.”

Viktor beams at him. “What if I told you you could?” he asks. “Let’s trade places.”

“Trade places,” repeats Christophe, frowning. “You’re not going to dance with Yuuri?”

“He’s not in the party mood tonight,” says Viktor, clapping Christophe on the back in a way that he hopes is more like friendly camaraderie than an obvious matchmaking attempt. “I’ll look after the donations, so you can go ask someone to dance. What do you think?”

“Someone?” echoes Christophe, an eyebrow arched.

“Anyone,” replies Viktor, grinning widely. “Everyone. Dance with everyone.” He pulls Christophe out of his seat, just as the smooth Christmas jazz playlist grinds to a screeching halt and turns into something a lot more peppy and club-like. “Go on, go forth. Have fun. Tell Phichit I said hi.” 

And he shoves Christophe into the vaguely befuddled crowd of doctors and lawyers, and waves cheerily when Christophe looks back. 

At that moment, an old lady approaches the table. “Hello, young man, could you help me figure out how to donate to the charity on my nephew’s iPad?”

Viktor blanches. “Um,” he says, taking the iPad from her. “I can… uh. Give me a second.” 

* * *

“Uhh, and then you put in your card number here… yeah, it should be that number. And then… f — heck. Where did the thing go. Right. Back here. You fill out this form…” 

The music is mounting when Yuuri finds Viktor sitting at the table in the corner, helping an old woman who’s bent over an iPad mini, both of them frowning at the screen. Next to her there’s a couple people dropping money into the box, as well as some other people writing personal checks. 

“Oh. I didn’t know we were handling checks, too,” Viktor remarks, looking over as a middle-aged man hands him a check in an envelope.

“I’ve donated to the charity gala with a check every year,” replies the man in a tone that speaks of authority. Viktor’s smile looks more like a grimace as he sets the envelope to the side.

“Do you have exact change for a 50 Euro bill? I only have this but I want to make a 20-Euro contribution,” announces a woman. Viktor’s grimace-smile only grows wider. Yuuri wonders if it’d be a good idea at all to help his fiance out. 

Over on the dance floor, Phichit and Christophe are having the time of their life, dancing along to the music that Otabek has curated. It’s brighter and more club-like, but some of the gala guests have rolled with it and are now swinging along to the beat. Others continue to sway bemusedly, though part of that might be due to a lack of dancing ability in the first place. 

Yuuri wants to take Viktor out to the dance floor, but it’s apparent his fiancé is having some difficulty doing Christophe’s job, so he comes by, putting an arm on Viktor’s shoulder. 

“Does Christophe have a cash box at this table?” he asks quietly.

“I’ve looked,” Viktor whispers back. “There’s nothing. Should I just break her fifty by myself?”

Yuuri bites his lip. “I can help people who are having trouble with the form, and you can charm everyone into donating bigger sums of money.”

Viktor beams. “I can do that,” he says, briefly kissing Yuuri’s cheek before turning back to the lady with the fifty-euro bill. “Have I told you about the good work that Anyone Can Skate does with underprivileged communities and how fifty Euros goes a long way towards providing quality equipment for struggling young skaters?”

By the time the brass band detaches themselves from dancing and goes back up to play another set, Viktor and Yuuri have stuffed the entire donation box with Euros and checks. Christophe comes back, sees the situation, and laughs.

“Oh god, that’s never happened before,” he says. “It’s only ten-thirty.”

“You could get another box?” Viktor asks, batting his eyelashes. Christophe chuckles. 

“Thank you so much for taking over,” he says. “You two should go dance.”

Viktor’s hand, which had been resting against the small of Yuuri’s back for the good part of the hour, travels a little lower, and Yuuri feels his cheeks heating at it. 

“Actually, we’re thinking of turning in,” he admits. “For the night.”

Christophe snorts. “Okay,” he says. “Sweet dreams, you two.” With a wide, knowing grin, he sends them off, and Viktor pulls Yuuri with him out of the party and back up the grand staircase. 

“You don’t know how much I’ve been wanting to do this to you since I saw you walk down those stairs,” Viktor declares the instant they’re in front of their door. He’s pressed Yuuri up against the wood; Yuuri’s lashes flutter as his breath hitches at their proximity.

“What are you waiting for?” he wonders, his voice low but filling the infinitesimal space between them. “Kiss me, Viktor Nikiforov.”

“With pleasure,” replies Viktor, and closes the distance.

* * *

The morning after, Yuuri wakes to the feeling of Viktor’s kisses warm yet hungry against his neck. As he inches closer and closer to full consciousness he realises that Viktor’s hands are roving low on his body, and that parts of him are already up and alert, apparently. 

“Mm, don’t stop,” he mumbles, as Viktor’s hands briefly pause, chastised by Yuuri stirring. “Feels good.” At some point they’d fallen into a sort of unspoken agreement that this sort of thing was more than fine, considering Viktor’s tendencies to go to bed early, and Yuuri’s tendencies to wake up late. 

Viktor’s hand brushes against him in a way that makes him gasp, and Yuuri cracks open an eye to see his fiance crowned in the sunlight, silver hair shining as it falls into his eyes. He shivers, reaching one hand up to cup Viktor’s cheeks, feeling a smile creep onto his lips as Viktor moves up to press their foreheads together.

“We should get breakfast before Chris’s cousins eat everything,” Viktor laments.

“What time is it?” Yuuri wonders, frowning as he turns towards the window and flinching as the sun hits his eyes directly. 

“Eight,” says Viktor, “give or take a couple minutes. I think.” He presses a kiss to Yuuri’s jaw, meanders lower to where his pulse rabbits against his skin. “We really should go.”

“I don’t see you moving,” Yuuri points out. “And I’m under you.”

“You’re too warm to leave,” Viktor complains, trailing the kisses lower until he hits Yuuri’s sternum, his hands now firmly settled on Yuuri’s hips. The down comforter tents over his back; Yuuri can see, between their bodies, how much Viktor wants him. 

He brackets his legs around Viktor’s hips, and kisses the corner of his mouth. “Just once before we go,” he suggests, and Viktor nods fervently in reply, already starting to rock against him. 

They end up heading down about an hour later, wrapped in each other’s arms and matching ugly holiday sweaters with a blizzard’s worth of snowflakes knitted onto them. Phichit and Christophe are seated side by side at the dining table when they get there, while Sara comforts a vaguely groaning Mila and Emil distracts Mickey by attempting to steal his rosti.

“What’s that smell?” Mila complains. “It’s too early for this.”

“It’s the cheese,” explains Christophe. “It’s a winter season food.”

Mila presses her face against the table. “Turn it  _off_ ,” she whines. 

“Eat some more rosti,” suggests Sara, patting her with a sigh.

Yuuri and Viktor sit down next to Phichit and Christophe, and Viktor imediately helps himself to some toast, while Yuuri contemplates the coffee and hot water pots. 

“Coffee or tea?” he asks Viktor, who nods towards the tea. Yuuri brews him English Breakfast, before pouring himself some coffee and stirring a dash of cream into it. 

“Don’t you usually take it black?” Phichit wonders.

“I’m in a creamy mood,” replies Yuuri. Viktor nearly chokes on his tea.

“W-where’s Otabek and Yuri?” he asks, coughing as he loudly scrapes some butter onto his toast. 

“They ate already,” says Christophe. “They’re heading out for snowboarding again.”

“Oh, good, today looks like a nice day for that,” says Viktor, gesturing towards the picturesque snowscape outside the window. “What are your plans for today?”

“Not sure,” replies Christophe, “but if you haven’t gone to Rittberger yet, I suggest you do that today.”

“The shops close at three today,” Sara adds. “You should go, like, as soon as you’re done eating.”

Yuuri notices the glances they exchange across the table, but says nothing as he sips his coffee and then helps himself to toast and rosti. 

* * *

After breakfast, most of the skaters head down into Rittberger, the little town tucked away in the vale just below the chalet. It’s a ten-minute drive through fields and forests of snow, but eventually they’re pulling up amid the little town with its wooden buildings capped with soft blankets of white, so brightly painted they almost resemble gingerbread houses. 

“The biggest building in this town is the ski resort,” says Christophe as they pile out of the van. It pulls away to find parking, leaving them in the middle of a snow-covered but crowded little square with a frozen fountain, a giant Christmas tree, and pigeons cooing for food. Cars full of holidaymakers pass to and fro along the edges, heading towards the resort. Other tourists are gathered near the tree or the church steps, taking pictures. “It was a canton seat, but  they moved that to somewhere more populous, so now the building’s a rapidly expanding hotel.”

“Convenient,” says Sara. “How long did you say we have here?”

“Until 3PM,” says Christophe, “because that’s when the shops close anyway. It’s Christmas Day, after all. Ideally they shouldn’t have to work, but this is a tourist trap town specialising in winter holidays, so it’s kind of an inevitability.”

“Why don’t we meet back here at 2:30?” suggests Phichit. 

“And we can all team up, too!” adds Viktor, taking Yuuri’s hand immediately as if to stake a claim. Yuuri feels his cheeks reddening. 

“Yes, friends don’t let friends shop tourist traps shops alone,” declares Michele, though he seems a little peaked at Emil’s proprietary nuzzling. The other teams begin to depart, but before she heads off with a still-complaining Mila, Sara takes Yuuri aside with a small wave. 

“Don’t let Viktor go back to the chalet until 5PM,” she suggests.

“What’s going on?” asks Yuuri, and Sara shushes him.

“You’ll find out,” she promises. “But just keep him away from the chalet, okay? There’s a lot to do here until then.”

“The shops close two hours before,” Yuuri points out.”

Sara scoffs at that. “You haven’t been on the sleigh tour, have you?” she wonders. Yuuri shakes his head, and Sara beams.

“Oh, it’s so pretty! You get to go through the all these forests and see such lovely nature — there’s a stream that feeds into the pond through the small forest, and it’s absolutely _romantic_. I bet Viktor would love it.”

It’s a very clear setup. But Yuuri nods anyway, watching Sara beam and twirl away to tend to her ailing girlfriend. Up ahead, Phichit and Christophe have gone into a tea-shop, Christophe’s hand just short of the small of Phichit’s back.

“Do you think they…?” Viktor’s voice asks suddenly, trailing off with a pointed silence at the tea-shop’s door. Yuuri turns, a little surprised; Viktor slips an arm around his waist with a small smile.

“I don’t know,” Yuuri admits, leaning against his fiancé’s shoulder. “Maybe?”

“They were sitting next to each other at breakfast, too,” Viktor points out.

Yuuri laughs, as they walk up to the window and press their faces to the glass. Inside, Phichit and Christophe have taken up a booth, deep in conversation with one another. Viktor beams at the sight before he nods at the door, but Yuuri shakes his head.

“Let’s give them some space,” he suggests. “How about the chocolate shop over there?”

Viktor raises an eyebrow, but he follows Yuuri without hesitation.

They spend the morning getting presents for people, like Yakov, Lilia, Yuuri’s parents, Mari, Minako. Besides the chocolate shop, there’s also several other gift stores bearing all sorts of tacky, Swiss-coloured souvenirs. 

“Do you think Mari would appreciate this?” Viktor asks, holding up a lighter with a Swiss flag on it. Yuuri wrinkles his nose.

“I’d rather not get her anything that encourages her habit,” he replies. Viktor hums, but sets it back down and then picks up an espresso mug with yet another Swiss flag on it. 

“How about this?” he wonders. Yuuri makes a face. 

“I’d rather get her something unique,” he says.

Viktor points to a giant wooden Alpenhorn.

“No, not  _that_ unique.” 

They settle on a sampler of chocolates for Mari and the Katsukis, as well as a small array of Schnapps for Minako, Lilia, and Yakov. Yuuri notices Phichit and Christophe strolling through one shop full of wooden hand-carved toys, the two of them talking avidly about potential presents for Guang-Hong and Leo. 

By the time three o’clock rolls around and the shops begin to close, the two of them have accumulated a sizeable collection of bags full of gifts. Phichit offers to bring their purchases back to the chalet for them, so that Yuuri could drag Viktor off for a sleigh ride. 

Already the shadows are lengthening across the snow as the sleigh takes them out to the outskirts of the town, through fields of snowmen and the remnants of snow battles that had taken place that day. It curves to the edge of a forest, finding a glittering segment of half-frozen creek before following along its bank. 

As they continue along the path with only sleigh bells to break the warm silence, Yuuri pulls the sleigh’s blanket tighter over his and Viktor’s lap. His fiancé curls into his side, reaching for Yuuri’s hand to hold; Yuuri offers it up easily, watching the little puffs of condensation from Viktor’s lips mingle with his own.

Suddenly, flecks of white begin to descend onto their blanket, onto their gloved hands. They continue on through the woods even as the snow falls in rapid little flurries, dancing across Viktor’s brows to rest in his hair and along the fur trim of his jacket. Yuuri pulls his own scarf up, sighing at the already-accumulated white, and tangles their fingers tighter as the sleigh moves to a sudden stop.

“Mistletoe,” says the driver suddenly, pointing above. The bare branches of deciduous trees stretch towards the early sunset, and tangled amid the forked limbs are clusters of mistletoe berries, appearing like little clouds against the sky. 

Yuuri looks at Viktor, who smiles at that. “It’s so pretty,” Viktor says, his voice half-reverent. “Like little snowdrops.”

“It’s parasitic,” the driver points out. “It kills the tree it infests.”

“True,” concedes Viktor. “But it also symbolises love; it was said to cure disease and bring good luck, and was so sacred to the Druids that Celtic enemies who met under mistletoe had to set down their weapons and declare a truce.” He keeps his gaze fixed on Yuuri. “That’s what I find so interesting about mistletoe — that it kills things, and yet still can give life and love to those who believe in it. Neither truly good nor evil, just… complex and beautiful.”

Yuuri smiles a little, reaching up to brush some snow from Viktor’s hair. Viktor’s gaze flits to his lips; his breath hitches as they move closer to one another.

“The old tradition was to kiss someone for every berry of mistletoe,” he murmurs quietly.

“How many berries are on those trees?” wonders Yuuri.

“Countless,” replies Viktor, and Yuuri quickly loses count of Viktor’s kisses, too.

* * *

The chalet is darkened when their sleigh pulls up in the field nearby. Viktor pays the driver, before tugging Yuuri by the hand up to the grand house. 

The door is locked when they try the handle, so Yuuri presses the button. There’s a scurrying of feet from the other side before the door unlatches, and then the footfalls ebb once more into silences. Yuuri looks over at Viktor, who looks vaguely amused by the situation, before reaching out and opening the door.

They’re greeted with a cacophony of lights and noise as soon as they step over the threshold. People are yelling “SURPRISE!”, blowing noisemakers, clapping and cheering —  Yuuri looks back at Viktor, and sees his flabbergasted expression.

“Happy birthday, Viktor!” Phichit chirps, coming over with a big crown of roses which he sets onto Viktor’s head. Viktor laughs a little at that, looking over at Christophe, who only winks. His mother comes over to Viktor’s elbow, starting to guide him towards the dining room.

“We’ve prepared a feast, Viktor,” she says, “and you get to help yourself first!”

“I mean, it  _was_  a Christmas Day feast,” one of the kids mutters. 

“But Viktor’s birthday is just as important,” Christophe’s mother insists. “He and Chris have been friends for so long, it’d be strange if we  _didn’t_  have some sort of celebration, right? I mean, we’re all here!”

Yuuri notices the way Viktor ducks his face behind his fringe as he’s accosted with the sight of the lavish Christmas meal laid out on the table, plus a lovely-looking cake circled with fruits and bearing a cheery Happy Birthday message on the top. “Viktor, are you okay?” he asks quietly. Viktor laughs a little at that, wiping at his eyes.

“This is all… this is so much,” he admits. “Thank you, Chris,” he adds in a louder voice, going over to hug his friend. And at the sight of the humbled joy on his fiancé’s face, Yuuri can’t help but smile, too.

* * *

Viktor honestly doesn’t remember too much of the party itself, which probably seems ungrateful of him, but so much of it has just been an overall happy blur that he hadn’t taken note of any particular pleasantries. The cake had been delicious, and so was the food, and the dancing had not been as formal as the night before. 

Afterwards, they all get presents and exchange them. This year the two of them have presents from Saint Petersburg and Hasetsu for their hosts, as well as things for their friends — like a set of hamster-shaped salt and pepper shakers for Phichit, a cat-eared beanie for Yuri (“Ugh, it matches Katsudon’s,” grumbles Yuri, but he puts it on anyway), and a novelty butt-shaped shotglass for Christophe. 

They get as good as they give, though: Yuuri blushes in particular at a series of t-shirts from Phichit, Chris, and Mila, all of which feature a picture of his face from one of his Eros performances on top of a bowl of katsudon and the captions (in glittery golden script) ‘Katsu-DOM’, ‘Katsu-DONG’, and ‘Katsu-DAMN’, respectively. Viktor somehow ends up with nothing but poodle paraphernalia, and he is  _definitely_  not complaining about that.

Finally, though, after glasses of eggnog and slices of cake, Yuuri reaches up and adjusts Viktor’s flower crown with a fond little smile, before leaping to his feet. “Excuse me,” he says, before vanishing from the room. Viktor looks over at Christophe, who shrugs, and then at Phichit, who winks. 

That piques his interest, and he makes to get up before Phichit shakes his head, mouthing ‘give him time’. So, with a sigh, he settles back down, watching Chris’s cousins playing with the toys they’d received for Christmas. 

After a while, Yuuri returns from wherever he’d been, his face flushed and his expression soft against the wool of his sweater. His hair is gleaming damp from the shower; when he presses close to Viktor on the couch, Viktor can smell the clean smell of his shampoo. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” Yuuri whispers in his ear, sending shivers down his spine. He nods, and Yuuri pulls him up, cheeks flushing as Phichit and Mila wolf-whistle at them. Viktor chuckles once they reach the door, turning back to wave at their friends.

“We’ll see you in the morning,” Christophe chirps, and Viktor rolls his eyes just before Yuuri tugs him out the room, down the hall, and up the stairs to their bedroom. 

“What’s my present?” he asks as soon as the doors close behind them, and Yuuri only smiles, taking off his glasses and tapping Viktor’s lips. He then rises on the tips of his toes, pressing a kiss to where his finger had been. 

“Why don’t you unwrap me and find out?” he suggests, his cheeks growing rosier with each passing minute. It’s as if the heavens have opened in this moment; Viktor certainly feels as light as air as he follows Yuuri to the bed and slowly lifts up the hem of his sweater to reveal lightly tanned skin and ice-blue lace. 

“Oh,” he says quietly, reverently. A slow smile spreads over Yuuri’s face; he helps Viktor pull the sweater off over his head and then pushes his trousers down his hips, stepping out to reveal the full ensemble. Viktor’s heart feels one beat away from giving out; he gently strokes at Yuuri’s cheek before pressing him down against the coverlets.

“Is your name altitude sickness?” he quips. Yuuri arches one confused, adorable eyebrow, so Viktor continues: “because you’re taking my breath away.”

Yuuri smacks his forearm lightly. “Shut up, that’s supposed to be your job,” he says, and Viktor gladly complies.

* * *

Around midnight, Yuuri stirs from the circle of Viktor’s arms because of his growling stomach. 

“Mm?” Viktor’s groggy voice resounds, curling in tighter against him. Yuuri leans down, presses a kiss to Viktor’s shoulders.

“Go back to sleep, I’m just hungry,” he whispers, but that gets Viktor to perk up suddenly, eyes flying open. “Are you also…?”

“I could do with some hot chocolate or mulled wine,” Viktor admits, nuzzling against Yuuri’s neck. “Or some schümli pflümli —”

“Gesundheit,” Yuuri says, causing Viktor to laugh.

“It’s a drink with coffee and plum schnapps,” he explains, as Yuuri extends a leg off the bed and tries to grab the scrap of blue lace that had served as panties for all of twenty-five minutes earlier in the evening with his toes. “It’s pretty popular in the winter, obviously.”

“Isn’t coffee and alcohol sort of a strange combination?” Yuuri wonders as he gives up and clambers out of the warm nest of Viktor’s arms and the down comforter. Shivering, he quickly dons the panties alongside his sweatshirt and a pair of pyjama bottoms, resisting the urge to dive back into bed immediately after.

Viktor laughs a little, tossing on his clothes before helping Yuuri into one of the bathrobes. “Only one way to find out, right?” he asks, as they head for the door.

The halls of the chalet are dark and silent at midnight, though it becomes apparent once they descend the staircase that there’s another set of people with the same idea as them. Yuuri recognises the voices as they approach; it’s Phichit and Christophe. 

“Pass the angel,” Phichit’s saying.

“Only if you give me the candy cane,” replies Christophe. There’s a brief moment of silence, punctuated by the settling of a mug against a marble surface. “Thanks, chéri.”

They step into the kitchen just then, just in time to catch Phichit angling up to kiss Christophe.

“Yes! It worked!” Viktor cheers. Yuuri elbows him, but mostly half-heartedly. But the damage is done: Phichit and Christophe jump apart at the sight of them, Phichit’s eyes going wide.

“Hey, Yuuri, Viktor!” he exclaims. “Fancy seeing you down here!”

Minutes later, Yuuri finds himself sitting at the kitchen island next to Phichit and Viktor, with matching mugs of hot cocoa in everyone’s hands. Christophe has put their latest batch of Christmas sugar cookies in the oven, and the kitchen is warm with the smell of baking sugar and butter.

“What worked?” asks Phichit, arching an eyebrow.

Viktor beams. “Yuuri and I have been trying to pair the two of you up for the past couple of days! Granted, we weren’t that good at it, but…”

“Oh, yeah, you really weren’t,” says Christophe, sipping at his cocoa as he slips an arm around Phichit’s waist. Phichit leans back, smirking. Viktor makes a wounded noise, and Yuuri pats his forearm.

“We got distracted by each other a lot more,” he admits. “But we tried.”

“Yuuri, that’s _so_ sweet of you,” gushes Phichit. His cheeks flush an embarrassed red moments later. “But we probably should’ve mentioned to you two earlier that we were already dating.”

A pause. “ _What_?” asks Viktor, blinking. Christophe chuckles, putting an arm around Phichit.

“Yeah, since the last GPF,” he explains. “We got together after that — we’d been talking for much longer, obviously — and, well, we thought we would give it a try.”

“I thought you didn’t really like doing long-distance,” Viktor points out.

“Then why’d you try to pair us off in the first place?” counters Christophe. Viktor looks chastened at that, so the other man presses on. “I just thought, well, after Masumi I wanted a change of pace. I didn’t want to be limited by geography if there was the chance I could really connect to someone, and Phichit…”

“We wanted to give things a try like you two did,” cuts in Phichit, squeezing Christophe’s hand.

“I’m happy for you,” Yuuri says. Phichit beams, taking a sip of his hot cocoa. The oven timer goes off, and Christophe brings out the batch of cookies and puts them on the cooling rack. 

“Who wants to decorate these?” he asks. Viktor raises his hand, eager as a schoolboy. Yuuri feels nothing but sugary warmth in his heart as he watches Christophe bring out the frosting and other pastry decorations.  

“You could have told us before we made idiots out of ourselves,” Viktor says as Christophe shows him how to attach the icing tips to the bag. Christophe laughs at that, patting his shoulder. 

“But it wouldn’t have been nearly as funny,” he points out. “Or as sweet.”

“It’s really nice to see you two care,” adds Phichit. “And besides, it probably could have been worse, right? At least you know now we’re together, and not, I dunno, super creeped out or something.”

Yuuri has to admit, he has a point. Still, it takes him a couple more gulps of hot cocoa and a sugar cookie smothered in frosting and sprinkles before his cheeks stop burning. 

* * *

In the morning, Phichit and Christophe are holding hands at the table. Yuuri only half-registers that at first when he comes downstairs tucked against Viktor’s side, yawning widely. 

“Where will you be headed to after this?” Mila is asking Otabek over her rosti. Next to him, Yuri beams from ear to ear. 

“Beka rented a Harley and we’re riding it all the way up to Moscow,” he says. Sara whistles at that.

“That’s a long distance,” she remarks.

“It’ll be fun,” insists Yuri. Otabek merely nods. 

“We’re probably driving back to Italy,” says Michele. “Emil and Mila are coming with my sister and me back to our house for a couple days before their flights back home.”

“I’ll be spending time in Geneva with Chris,” says Phichit cheerily, leaning against Christophe’s shoulder. Eyes turn to Viktor and Yuuri, who look at each other with slightly nervous smiles.

“Back to Hasetsu first, I think?” wonders Yuuri. Viktor’s eyes are soft yet bright as he nods, his hands brushing against Yuuri’s own. Yuuri takes it, squeezing lightly before turning back to his friends with a wider grin. “Back to Hasetsu before Saint Petersburg and training.”

“Four Continents is in February, after all, and Yuuri needs to add another gold to his collection,” Viktor points out cheerily, to a chorus of groans.

“Euros is before that,” Christophe adds, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Why do you have to remind us? We’re on  _vacatio_ n.”

Mila laughs at that. “Speaking of reminders though, Vitya, Yura — isn’t today Gosha’s birthday?”

There’s a collective freeze among the skaters. “We gotta call him,” says Sara. “Sing him Happy Birthday.”

And as all of them start fretting over how to best set up the long-distance call to Georgi, Yuuri turns to Viktor. 

“Looking forward to going back to Hasetsu?” he asks.

Viktor takes his hand and presses a kiss to one knuckle, his smile brighter than the lights on a Christmas tree, warmer than chestnuts on an open fire. Their rings twinkle in the gleam from the window, reminding Yuuri of the beautiful future they’re promising one another with them.

“Yeah,” Viktor says quietly, smiling. “I’m looking forward to going home.”


End file.
